


Favor

by Laine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, F/M, Kink Meme, Sexual Tension, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laine/pseuds/Laine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa loves to spend time with Cersei.  She relishes the special attention, the gentle mentorship.  But most of all, she relishes the sight of herself in a crown.  </p><p>(Sansa, Cersei and Jaime play at knights and queens.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Favor

 

When she’s been an especially good girl- her stitches perfectly straight, her dance steps flawlessly executed, her posture consistent- the Queen grants her a reward.  These are the evenings that Sansa anticipates with a quiver in her belly, her favorite times by far.  For she loves to spend time alone with Cersei, relishes the special attention, the gentle mentorship.  But most of all, she relishes the sight of herself in a crown.  
  
Cersei places the circlet of gold and ruby on Sansa’s auburn curls, straightening the wisps of hair around the girl’s face before turning her toward the looking glass.  The light catches on the gems, and she shines- no longer Ned Stark’s pretty little daughter, no longer the strange winter rose in the bower of Southern flowers, but a creature of majesty, the Crown Prince’s betrothed- the woman who will be Queen.  
  
The current Queen stands behind Sansa and combs her long fingers through the russet waves; Sansa is tall for her age, but Cersei’s chin still easily clears the top of her head.  And even in her dressing gown, her hair unbraided and tumbling about her shoulders in a waterfall of gold, she is a paragon, grand and proud and so painfully beautiful.  And Sansa yearns to breathe her air and bask in her smile...she yearns to _ become __._    
  
Cersei lifts Sansa’s arm and slips a soft piece of material into her sleeve; a silken scarf, elaborately embroidered.  She tilts the crown until it sits firmly on Sansa’s head before whispering, “Are you ready for your lesson, little princess?”  
  
Sansa cannot help the enthralled grin that splits her face as she nods.  Cersei brushes a soft kiss on her temple before placing her hands on her shoulders and spinning her to face the figure on the other side of the chamber.  
  
Ser Jaime kneels in armor as golden as his hair, the pristine white cloak streaming down his back.  His head is bowed, and Sansa is grateful for it- she’d be so embarrassed, were he to notice how her hands tremble.  Cersei notices, of course- she notices everything.  She places her own soft, cool hands on Sansa’s and strokes so carefully, gentling away the shakes.    
  
“When a  knight asks for your favor in a joust, he’ll extend his lance to you, and you’ll tie it to the end,” the Queen’s voice purrs in her ear.  “But when he asks for your favor before entering real combat, that’s a different matter entirely.”  
  
She urges Sansa forward as she continues.  “You’ll slip it from your sleeve and offer it to him, and you’ll let him take your hand.”  
  
Sansa plucks the scarf from her sleeve and extends her arm- she gasps and giggles when Ser Jaime’s large hand covers hers, warm and firm and calloused.  He accepts the favor, but holds tight to her hand and pulls her closer before pressing his lips to her knuckles.    
  
“Your Grace,” he speaks in a low rumble, and Sansa feels a peculiar twinge between her legs at the sound.  
  
The Queen kisses her temple again, this time lingering a bit longer- Sansa would swear that she feels a tongue on her skin, but surely not...  
  
“Now, what I’m about to tell you is extremely important.”  Sansa tries to turn her head to look at Cersei, but the proximity of the other woman’s face to her own makes it impossible.  And so she continues to stare at Ser Jaime, who has yet to release her hand.  
  
“You must not appear too cold or distant.  The exchange of favors often happens publicly, and nothing will displease the smallfolk more than a Queen who cannot summon up enough warmth when sending a knight into battle.”  She gives Sansa a little nudge on the small of her back.  “Give your knight a kiss, my Queen.”  
  
Sansa can feel her heart pounding in her throat as she moves her hand to cup Ser Jaime’s cheek.  And Gods, he looks so like his sister- every bit as beautiful and fierce and gilded.  Pleasure joins anxiety to course through her veins; she so loves pretty things, and she’s never seen anything so pretty as these two lion twins here in the room with her.    
  
“Go on,” Cersei murmurs, and Sansa bends her knees, placing a soft, brief kiss on Ser Jaime’s cheek.  Although he wears no beard, a light prickling of facial hair tickles her lips, and her cheeks flush at once.  She has never touched a man in so familiar a way (save her father and uncles, of course), and the newness of it overwhelms every sense.    
  
Ser Jaime smiles at her when she withdraws, white teeth shining and green, green eyes nearly hypnotic.  Her insides twist in a way that she doesn’t understand, and she pulls herself upright- but then there are Cersei’s hands on her hips, holding her firmly in place.  
  
“Sansa,” she begins, and although the girl cannot see the Queen’s face, she can _hear_ her smile- “This man is going off to battle, maybe going off to die.  He asks for your favor, knowing full well that he may never be touched by another woman again.  Is that truly all you have to give?”  
  
She opens her mouth to protest, but only wordless sputters emerge.  The chamber suddenly feels unbearably hot; a trickle of sweat drips down her neck.  Cersei dips her head to collect the perspiration in her mouth...and the tingling in Sansa’s most secret place becomes sharper and more urgent...  
  
“Give him something beautiful to remember, sweetling.”    
  
Sansa leans over Ser Jaime again- he’s still smiling, still glorious and just too much of everything...but the elder Stark girl has always been an obedient child.  Her palm returns to the man’s cheek, and she moves closer, her lips barely touching his-  
  
The next moments pass in an impossibly slow haze, like the memory of a dream.  Ser Jaime stands, his mouth still connected to Sansa’s, and he wraps his arms around her waist.  She braces her hands on his breastplate and lets him kiss her again and again, his lips massaging hers, nothing hard or harsh, but just intensely, ecstatically strange.    
  
Her arms wind around his neck and she pulls him closer, unable to get her fill of his mouth, whimpering when his tongue wheedles its way past her lips.   _It’s a song, it’s Florian and Jonquil, beautiful beautiful beautiful...  
_   
Cersei’s mouth is on her neck again, sucking insistently, and she presses her back into the other woman’s chest, her full, perfect chest.  Sansa closes her eyes and sways with them, the twins moving together like the tide, in perfect synchronicity, their hands and arms and mouths filling her with their energy, bringing her closer to what they are, to what she aches to be.   
  
When she breaks away from Jaime’s mouth, greedily sucking air into her lungs, she finds that they’ve turned in place- they face the looking glass again.  And as she stares at her reflection, at the ruby and gold crown, at the pairs of emerald eyes wanting her, inviting her, claiming her, she thinks that she’s never felt more grown-up in all her life...nor more beautiful.

 


End file.
